Darwinism
by Hunter of Entities
Summary: In this world, Is the destiny of mankind controlled By some transcendental entity Or law? Is it like the hand of God Hovering above? At least it is true That man has no control Even over his own will. As such it stands to reason that man has no true control over who is strong and who is weak


In this world,

Is the destiny of mankind controlled

By some transcendental entity

Or the law?

Is it like the hand of God

Hovering above?

At least it is true

That man has no control

Even over his own will.

The night had dense fog that reduced visibility to the point that even discerning the sight of one's nose on their face was an impossibility, it made it impossible for any person to travel by any means commercially available. The moderate forest in its autumn chill made for precarious travel during a normal night due to the twisting and gnarled branches and roots that had next to no domestication that revealed that very little people saw a reason to enter this forest.

Though for a young swordsman this had meant little one night wouldn't derail his plans of travel as there were no plans. The young man had traveled aimlessly on quest and where he went tales followed, of a man wielding a blade taller than it's wielder who was said to beyond human. There was some truth to these stories and while there are some renditions that seem to only be fiction, few are only just that.

Guts stood 193 cm and had a face that was sharply angled that gave the appearance of almost being canine-like. With the way, his eyes appeared to hold a wild and untamed glint in them this notion was easily reinforced. His hair was black and kept short and clumped into small spikes. Guts took the appearance of a man who spent his time working out in the elements day in and out with a musculature made him look to cut from a stone worker that wished to exaggerate the frame and power that the human body could hold. It wasn't a stretch to say that muscle rippled beneath his skin with each movement.

Around Guts' shoulders draped a dark red cape that went to his knees and covered the top of his black steel plate armor that covered his torso in its entirety save for underneath the armpits with segmented shoulder guards to allow for an easier range of movement while providing some means of protection. Across his torso laid a leather belt that led into a harness that ended in a hollowed-out conical spade that served as a sheath for the large blade.

His left arm was wrapped in bandages that would serve to increase the grip that he held his blade in whereas his right arm was clad in a steel gauntlet that beveled around his knuckles and had a leather glove that ran the length of the gauntlet that ended fingerless.

Along his hips, the mercenary wore a codpiece that had segmented steel plates with a small bevel that went down his common perennials stopping a few scant centimeters above his knees. Beige trousers lay beneath the scarce lower protection that lead into a pair of dark brown spurred boots that went halfway up his calf.

The young mercenary overall cut for an intimidating figure that would likely have little quarrel with being the instigator to most problems. Ultimately though he didn't think that was any way to live one's life with such a flimsy aspiration in life that ultimately lacked any true substance or purpose. It was partly what his goal was here to find some type of purpose.

To that end Guts had fought his best friend for his freedom, no that wasn't right, Guts had fought his best friend to prove that he could stand alongside him. Following that, some monsters held strength beyond anything he imagined was possible, Monsters capable of destroying trained men and women like they were nothing more than the dolls of children. He couldn't understand their strength, where it came from how they honed it nothing. Perhaps he didn't want to, but he did have to accept that they existed and should he ever decide to return to the hawks they might have face being on par with-. No, he wouldn't even allow himself to think about that being, it was still something he had to match something deep within his being told him.

The Raven-haired man had to try to match them, he would… His training to counter and defeat something that could match the forces of nature had been completed but it felt as though that something was missing from it. Yes, he had grown stronger and had found that his reflexes were far higher than they had been before he started but the mercenary supposed that obstacles no matter how dangerous could never truly stack up against the intent and power of a being beyond the strength of man.

In _that _battle, although he had been severely wounded before Griffith had tried to rescue him it ground his gears that the most he had been capable of merely wounding his arm.

He wouldn't accept that the most he had able to manage little than a glancing blow against them. For now, this road that he walked both literally and figuratively was rife with danger to continue sharpening his blade upon.

He could feel it and see them, he was walking straight into an ambush. He didn't allow it to show on his face any more than a rock would appear to move on its own. Each step that he drew closer the ambush in the sparsely placed trees the more of his ambushers he could discern. The afternoon sun was only doing them some favors beings though it made it harder to locate all of them.

There was easily more than 30 but probably no more than 60, they might provide for something to his skill against. The closer he got to them the more he could discern about his ambushers they were armed, some holding some strange type of crossbow, others with more traditional weapons. Some lying in wait within the trees, some obscured by the shadows of the trees… either way, the prepared mercenary knew a battle would unfold.

In this scenario there would be no need to fight defensively, he would have to set the pace of this battle with their being so many of them, he reckoned that he would only have to swing his sword if he wanted to hit someone with how crowded everything was out here.

Stepping past one more gnarled root the red-caped man threw his body to the left and not a moment too soon as he heard crack not too dissimilar to canon go off, then saw a projectile of some sort burning a bright red fly past him and impact where he had been not a heartbeat before had.

"Tch", the young man scoffed and while unleashing blade cut through a somewhat mature and a man behind it goring his weapon and felling the tree.

"Fuck he's a huntsman," one his assailers shouted, a young woman if the voice sounded about right.

She gave away her position as well, but before the young mercenary could turn his sights on her location he found three men looking to sneak upon him. They looked to be wearing some type of robes to him not to lose restrict motion but it definitely wouldn't serve to protect them in any manner.

Before he could begin analyzing them he found himself weaving through their attacks.

A step to the left, a deflection to the right with his dominant hand. The mercenary could feel his blood beginning to pump, his eyes beginning to widen. If he was getting this excited then either A) he was out of practice or B) They must possess some skill.

Though with a quick deflection that destroyed any bearing that the other two may have had Gut bought his blade to bear against the third and with a flurry of movement beyond his opponent found himself down an arm and gored through his chest.

Then without losing a beat, he crashed his blade against the other two that he left unattended for a few moments. They seemed to emit some type of dull light when his sword impacted them, but for all that it did, it was almost pointless as across their necks clear as day was deep cut that would leave them choking on their blood.

A shot rang out of sight but Guts again found himself moving out the way but more out conscious thought than out of instinct as he had earlier. His cape paid the price as there was a small rip down at the bottom.

However, the owner of the cape didn't even notice as he found himself in engaging someone with two warped machetes.

They swung at him with reckless abandon, he, Guts noticed, but he wasn't all that worried about putting him down just yet as he wanted to see if he could locate where the bulk of the marksmen were located at.

Out of the peripherals of his vision, the mercenary could see that some were nestled above within the trees and others were darting between the trees never staying still after they took their potshots.

'Fuck it.' The 100 man slayer decided he would just kill them as they came at him, moving to the right a sticking his foot out Guts had tripped his reckless assailant and for his trouble sent him flying with a swing of his sword.

'That should have cut him in half…', as someone who didn't do things by half measure Guts wouldn't allow him to survive.

He made to move to the direction that he had sent the soon to be corpse flying but once more found himself being engaged, this time they wielding a spear, and as the bandit made to thrust it at him Guts easily jumped above the bandit and landed on their shoulders.

He hadn't remained there for any longer than a moment before he kicked off the back the bandits head a flipped over some bandits that made their way to reinforce the one with the spear.

They were persistent in their pressure he would give them that but they were more annoying than he thought that they would turn out to be.

Twisting his hips to the side and barely pushing the shaft of a nearly unwieldy pike the length of four men out of his way the mercenary could have sworn that the weapon wasn't nearly as long a few moments ago.

Pushing those thoughts out of his head the mercenary brings his blade to bear as he slams his blade through the extended spear and the chest of its wielder.

The wound was a deep and visceral one that immediately began to smell of waste as the sword had cut through the intestines of its temporary sheathe.

Eyes quickly dart from left to right, scanning and assessing the best route to take. Shadows quickly scattered as they were detected.

Before a conclusion was made with unnatural ease the swordsman turned around and deflected a large blade that was roughly the size of his own.

The blade itself was bigger than his, thicker as well. The man he was in sword lock with was smaller than him chestnut brown hair.

Pushing his blade against his opponents he was surprised to find that it could match him at least for a while. Though clearly, their mentalities differed, yes Guts could use a larger sword like his opponent since he often trained with a blade that was wrapped in heavy chains making leagues heavier than right now, so he could use it as if it were a feather.

His opponent must've just been used to using the strength of his blade to carry him through most of his battles, using the heavy blade as means to slow his opponents because they'd have to carry his weight.

A tactic that took advantage of someone strictly weaker than the foe they were fighting, such a tactic from this no-name bandit could never on the 100 manslayer.

His opponents' guard was getting pushed inwards, his face grew red with the effort, suddenly Guts disengaged from the lock.

Three slashes lashed out faster than the eye could see. Each blow landed home but failed to open any cuts, but an opportunity was made and seen, as the mercenaries' foe stumbled back a steel-clad hand crashed into the throat of the opposing swordsman.

With a swift kick to the nuts, the former Captain stepped to his flank and brung his sword crashing down on his foe, decapitating him with a flash of light that gave him about as much resistance as a typical steel plate.

Sucking in a deep breath, and letting out a stream of breath that rose like wispy smoke Guts could feel it, his body was warmed up. His sword… would see sparks in this fight that would define him, as it did in every fight before.

The red and black wearing Bandits could see clear as day that this wasn't a Huntsman.

No Huntsman would just settle right onto killing their foes instead of just battling them, normally they'd try to settle this peacefully and failing that with as few deaths as possible.

This man, he was something else, he killed them just easily as drinking water, his strength although it wasn't abnormal to huntsman standards, there was a ferocity to it that beguiled the regular human being, something that was beyond the typical frame of man.

Similar to the beasts of Darkness that made home to the dark shadows of their world, although they were reasonably sure he wasn't a Grimm, something about this man was off. Besides the fact that he managed to kill off more and more of them.

Yes, he had evaded the gunshots at first but soon there was enough time for the marksmen to adjust their aim. Rounds found temporary homes inside of man but none in any place vital nor would they slow him down.

The rounds were more frequently dodged, and they could see the difference from the start, whereas before he would dodge the aim of the rounds now he was dodging the rounds after they were fired.

It was an incredible sight to see, or least it would be if the ramifications of that didn't chill the bandits to the bone. The man was getting better, He learned the timings and was now utterly comfortable with moving between the bullets and deflecting them even when they switched to burst and automatic.

With each salvo let off the man grew closer to the entrenched marksman, and after awhile those on the ground noticed that the gunshots were tapering off.

"Where is he!? How is he hiding from us…" One bandit in particular who lost his cool shouted.

"Now that I think about it, how _is_ he doing that, we've been in these forests for the last eight months, he shouldn't know how to navigate it better than we do…", another bandit this time a female who was trying to hide the shaking in her voice with a false confidence that she couldn't really feel stated.

They should have been able to find their quarry by now considering that he is wearing his blood and their own like a second skin, they could at least be thankful that he was out of aura. For all the good that it seemed to slow him down.

There wasn't a flash of steel that accompanied the blade and no amount of instincts could have saved the bandit. There was one moment where a blade didn't protrude through her heart and then the next was contrary to that.

A bandaged hand covered her mouth as she found herself leaning against the torn chest plate of the man who had waged a bloody one-man war against her clan.

With fading strength, she manages to look her killer in the eyes. His face is feral and tired, but his eyes glint with a determination that tells her that numbers won't matter against him. It would be a useless act, like a child thinking they could defeat nature itself.

Her vision fading yet still seeing she sees his eyes make contact with her own and she can't help but have her lips curl into a small grin, then she is no more.

'She must think that they can somehow still pull a win. Whatever they have left… hopefully, it'll be interesting.'

With a fierce breath that renewed his vigor, the mercenary brung his blade to bear. With an unheard signal, the remaining bandits found themselves facing down a man who would not yield and held a look in his eye that told of a ferocity that few men would ever be able to wield.

The battle would continue and to those that saw it the man became less human the more he fought the blade shearing through the Branwen bandits with all the finesse of a bear mauling.

In the end, however, the man stood victoriously over his foes, although he was covered in the blood of his foes as well as his own he was still able to move underneath his power.

Dragging his blade behind him as his arms scarcely had the strength to do much more than hold onto his blade and his vision blurring as he found himself getting weaker.

'They were undoubtedly the strongest group of people I've faced. Stronger than those 100 men, that much is clear. Is it possible that I can face such groups of people again? If I did, would it be enough to prepare me for something like _him?_'

Scoffing aloud, the mercenary turns his gaze to the sky above and sees that the sun is setting.

'It would probably be for the best if I were to rest rather than continue in my condition.'

Looking down at himself he could see that his armor was little more than shards of metal that only covered his pectorals and his pants had been turned into a pair of shorts that could only count as such because of the armor that remained on the sides of his legs.

His cape remained in surprisingly good condition but it couldn't serve as a traveling cloak anymore.

All in all, he felt like hell, looked like hell, and smelt like it too. Yeah, a rest would be good for him right now.

It didn't take long to find a tree to rest against, it was a small matter to get his blade nestled against his shoulder as well. Leaning back against the tree it didn't take long for his body to shut down on him.


End file.
